


You'll Be In My Heart

by callunavulgari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, McCall Family Feels, McCall Pack, Melissa is a Good Parent, True Love's Kiss, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please,” Stiles says loudly, throwing his hands up into the air. “We’ve all seen Frozen. I’ve got this shit.”</p><p>Alternatively: in which Scott gets cursed, Melissa is sick of having to save the day, and everyone argues about who loves Scott enough to break the curse with True Love's kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaikamahine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaikamahine/gifts).



> I wanted to write something for the Sincerely Scott week and when I came across [this](http://kaikamahine.tumblr.com/post/89346341869/pocketlass-okay-but-like-a-fic-where-scott) tumblr post, I couldn't resist. Originally this was going to be in Scott's POV, because I have actually never written him? Allison, Lydia, Derek, Stiles, Erica, even Kate Argent. But nope, not Scott. But Melissa McCall is the actual best and this wanted to be in her POV, so whatever.

It’s been a long day. Sally called in sick with the flu and Ricky’s been out for the last week because his kid’s come down with, if he’s to be believed, some cross between the measles and the mumps. He’d been frantic on the phone last Monday and Melissa had quietly assured him that it would be fine. He’s overreacting pretty badly, but she gets it. Little Jessica’s only a year and a half old and for a first time parent, a cough is about as bad as the plague. She still remembers how badly she’d reacted the first time that Scott caught a cold, calling Claudia in the middle of the night because Rafe was in Arizona for the weekend and interrupting her best friend's sleep with half-panicked, sleep-deprived pleas to drive her and Scott to the hospital. Claudia had just laughed, muttered something in Polish, and hung up on her. Five minutes later she'd called back, just to make sure that Melissa wasn't actually going to drive herself to the hospital. Good thing too, because she'd already been halfway out the door.  
  
The point is that she's exhausted, working overtime so she can try to get everything settled at the hospital since they're so desperately understaffed. She's actually broken down and pulled out the discount foundation she’d gotten at CVS years ago to hide the bags under her eyes. It’s that bad.   
  
She’s just starting to think about going to bed — because the coffee she’s been nursing for the last hour is cold and her scrubs still have baby-vomit on them, which is really not sanitary — when the door slams open and half a dozen feet pound against the linoleum. Melissa sighs, downing the rest of her cold coffee in one go.  
  
The kids are shouting about something, she realizes, panicked inflections to their voices that get her up and off the couch in half a second, aching body be-damned.  
  
They’re all clustered around the kitchen table — every single one of them gesturing wildly and trying to speak over the other.  
  
Melissa catches bits and pieces, something about a witch and kisses and she just blinks at them for a minute before the day catches up to her.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen!” she yells, voice cracking in the middle like Scott’s did when he was twelve. She blushes a little and clears her throat, glaring at every single one of them as they slowly go quiet and turn to watch her. “One at a time. Scott, go.”  
  
Her son bites his lip, blinking slowly, and opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.  
  
“Sorry, Ms. McCall, he uh, can’t actually talk right now,” Isaac tells her hesitantly and she frowns at him. She isn’t surprised one bit when Stiles steps into her space to take over when Isaac falters. Neatly, she sidesteps one of Stiles' wildly gesticulating hands. He’s a good kid, Stiles, but the boy makes her tired sometimes just _watching_ him talk.  
  
“There was this witch,” he starts, eyes widening the way that Claudia's used to when she was talking about something she was passionate about. Melissa groans as Stiles' words sink in. Of course there was a witch. She needs to move.  
  
Stiles explains everything: how they’d been out in the storm and startled some teenage witch who’d been tapping into the power of the rain or something. She’d been sorry after, he says, but apparently the curse could literally only be broken by true love’s kiss. They all go quiet after that and she knows what they’re all thinking, knows every single one of their grieving faces by now, each and every one of them feeling the space that Allison has left between them keenly. Kira in particular looks more awkward than usual, more like she had when Scott had first introduced the girl to Melissa, shuffling back and forth on her socked feet as she wrings rainwater from her hair into the sink.   
  
“Okay—” Melissa starts, taking a deep breath.  
  
“I told him that I’d kiss him,” Issac blurts out, shrugging, and she blinks at him, surprised. He’d come back to them after a year in France hunting with Chris and has spent the last few months positively glued to Scott’s side, but she hadn’t thought it was like _that_. She blinks at her son and wonders if she's a bad parent for assuming that Allison and Kira meant that he was straight. Jesus, who knows. John had always thought that Stiles was, from the way he'd panted after Lydia Martin all those years, but Melissa's seen the way the boy has looked at Derek and that Mahealani kid. No 100% heterosexual teenager spends that much time studying another man's ass during lacrosse games. Before she has a chance to really freak out, Isaac continues, “I mean, I did ditch my alpha for him and follow him into certain death without a thought."  
  
Derek Hale — and it's still surreal to see him standing in her kitchen, hand placed a couple inches to the right of the bread basket — wrinkles his nose, eye twitching. “I died for him,” he bites out, and what.  
  
“You didn’t actually die, you drama queen,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes and hip-checking the older man. Well, attempting to. Derek doesn't move, other than to reach a hand out to steady Stiles when he nearly rebounds into the stove. Kira shifts again in Melissa’s peripheral, gnawing on her lip. She starts when she realizes that Melissa's eyes are on her, dropping her hands to her sides and fidgeting.  
  
“I…” she starts, stopping when everyone’s eyes go to her. She blushes a delicate pink, eyes cast downwards. “I love him, but I don’t know if we’re that far yet? I mean true love’s kiss?”  
  
Lydia, who’s been leaning back in the chair next to Scott, snorts delicately, patting her son’s arm reassuringly. “And if girl-wonder over there doesn't think she's got it, there’s no way I could do it, no matter _how_ hot I am.”  
  
“Please,” Stiles says loudly, throwing his hands up into the air. “We’ve all seen Frozen. I’ve got this shit.”  
  
Then it all devolves into arguing again and there isn’t a damn thing she can do to simmer them all down a second time.  
  
Melissa watches them for a minute, eyebrow raised, and makes her way over to Scott, who’s staring at her with such a pleading expression that she has to chuckle. She smiles, ruffling his hair, and sighs, murmuring fondly, “This would have actually been a problem if that witch had gotten someone a little less loved.”  
  
She leans down and tries not to think the word 'amateurs' too loudly, _just_ in case someone’s been cursed telepathic this week as well, and presses a kiss to her son’s temple.   
  
The tension in Scott’s shoulders drains out of him immediately and he grins up at her, pressing his face into the palm of her hand when she cups his cheek affectionately. None of the rest of his pack have noticed yet, still bickering like… a pack of wild animals. Jesus, she needs to go to sleep. She doesn't remember her teenage years being quite so action-packed, though if her mother was still alive, she probably would have told Melissa that having a teenage girl was _worse_ than having a teenage werewolf.  
  
“Thanks mom,” Scott tells her and presses a quick kiss to her thumbnail as the rest of them go quiet at his voice.  
  
“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Melissa says, pulling away before she gives in to the urge to smother him with hugs in front of his friends. He’d take it, she knows he would, because he’s never been the type of kid to balk at affection from her, even when he'd been teased terribly for it in sixth grade by that Whittemore boy, but she has a sneaking suspicion that after the day she’s had, if she starts hugging him, she’ll never let him go.  
  
Melissa steels herself, turning a glower onto group of young adults clogging up her kitchen, who are still watching with wide eyes. “Now the rest of you,” she tells them, pointing a finger in their direction. She refuses to feel bad when her finger nearly pokes out Isaac’s eye. “You can wait out the storm here, but for the love of god, please keep it down. I’m going the hell to sleep.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for an answer, already marching her way over to the stairs.  
  
“Night, mom,” Scott calls.  
  
“Night, Ms. McCall,” chorus the rest of his little band of misfits and she snorts, putting a hand on the banister. Amateurs, the lot of them.  
  



End file.
